“Ah Palinurus, you were too trustful of the calm sky and the sea.
So you will lie, a shroudless form on an unknown strand”

The streetlights dawn at dusk
like imitations of the sun.
And the perfect flowers of the
perfect garden fronts enclose
and curl their eyes within.
And we close.

The twilight tears of night surround
the somber sights and sullen sounds.
The single hearse goes by, goes by
blackened by the starless sky.
As watchers watch with their dark eyes
not afraid to cry

and we wonder why
the earth is in rotation
but there is no
revolution.

Oh the dive and the descent…
for the waterless, washed out years spent
on nothing, shedding petals like flowers
on the dirt

are nothing

but straight lines on refill pad.

So, I’m sorry to all of you
But I would rather bathe in the sun-sewn air
streaming through the bronzing leaves
than breathe the air
of your sordid torn tomb
where your heart aches
like a desolate sun
in the dry, withered realm
of reason.

Now the road is vacant
and they have nothing to see,
so the docile dozens on the street
with their frameless figures there
stand and stare, unaware
that the heart is a shape
and the soul is the sky...
so today we fly.